Pirates of the Caribbean: A Bonny Revenge
by Caer of Connacht
Summary: In a drunken haze, Michael Charleston signs on as the newest member of the Queen Anne, leaving his twin sister, and all his gambling debts, behind But can she find enough fight in her heart to rescue her brother?  Or even, rescue herself?  OST Spoilers
1. IntroForwardDisclaimer

A/N: So this story I actually started a few years ago under my old penname, before the forth movie came out. So here it is again, only this time under a different title. Don't worry, I removed the other story.

A Forward

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or any characters, name, plots, ship, icons, etc. associated with the movies, books, etc. I am not making a profit from this, nor do I take any credit. Disney has the full rights to Pirates of the Caribbean and if asked, I will discontinue this fanfiction.

Title: Pirates of the Caribbean: Bonny's Revenge

Rating: Teen/Mature – for language and scenes of violence

Setting: Takes place after On Stranger Tides

Main Characters: Melissa, Michael, Jack, Barbosa, and Angelica

Warning: Spoilers for On Stranger Tides

Summary:

In a drunken haze, Michael Charleston signs on as the newest member of the _Queen Anne's_, leaving his twin sister, and all his gambling debts, behind. Melissa faced the abuse, the robbery and rape of her spirit. But can she find enough fight in her heart t rescue her brother? Or even, rescue herself?


	2. Ch 1: Introductions are Made

A/N: Here it is, chapter one. Now to go hunt down wherever I put chapter two…

Chapter One:

Introductions are Made

Melissa Anne Charleston was not your traditional lady. She was fisherwoman with the calluses and scars to prove it to anyone who doubted. She may be young in years, but in the skill of bookkeeping, she didn't have a match. On occasion, she met those who doubted her knowledge of the sea and business, much like the man before her now.

He was an ugly sucker with a large mole the size of a fingerprint just to the left of his hook-like nose. His face had at least three giggly chins and enough fat to keep a whale warm in the coldest water. To make matters worse, his eyes rarely strayed from Melissa's breasts (the bane of her existence). She wanted nothing more than to smack the man senseless and complain to his wife about teaching him manners, but none of that was an option because Philip Grayson had money, money that she and her brother Michael needed.

"Mr. Grayson, I can understand your concerns. However, I agreed with my brother that any changes to our prices would be met upon by us both, and as you can see, he is not here at the moment." _He usually wasn't_, Melissa thought to herself. She tried to stretch out her legs under the desk, but they lacked storage space for papers, and said papers blocked her from even that small comfort.

"Your brother, Miss Charleston, is a drunk and a thief. He has not been present on the last four occasions I have spoken with you, and I will not tolerate more delay." Spit was starting to fly from his mouth, and somehow, he wriggled out of the too-small chair and loomed over Melissa in, she could only guess, an attempt at threatening her. "Now. You will either lower your prices to match the quality of your merchandise, or I will proceed to find another supplier who can match my needs!"

_The lying bastard._

Well, Melissa would not be out shouted and spit by some over fed, over rich man who sweat (and smelt) like a pig in labor.

Melissa stood and glared him down, "Mr. Grayson. I did not invite you inside to yell, scream, and insult my family name. Yes, Michael might be a drunk, and for all I know he could be a thief, but we both know that our catch is well worth every shilling you and your _desolate_ _family_ must sacrifice to pay for it. Your business has doubled – tripled, if my math is correct, due to the quality of the food you provide, most of the food being fish, which we supply."

"You stupid girl," he chuckled, "The crowd at my tavern has nothing to do with the food we serve." His grin was so gleeful it was unholy. "I hired some girls from the Westside to dance and sing every night. And if you excuse me," He waddled over to the door, plucking up his coat as he went, "I will be leaving. You, Miss Charleston, just lost your best source of business.

"But, never worry. Should you come by the tavern, and I have no doubt I can find work worthy of your…skills."

He shut the door right before the paperweight hit his face, and Melissa could hear him cackling as he walked away.

"Bastard," she murmured and sat down in her father's old chair with a slump. Sure, they made a decent profit from the markets and from selling in the richer neighborhoods. But without Grayson's business, they wouldn't be able to pay the rent on their office or for the dock, and there were still payments to be made on their boat.

Melissa stood and walked over top the closet, taking out a heavy, worn naval captain's jacket. The cloth was harsh against her skin, but it still smelled of her father, pipe smoke and wood chips.

"Da," she whispered, "where are you when I need you."

When Melissa had finally caught up on the books and filed away Michael's mess, it was already dark outside. The street lamps did little to cut through the gloom of the night, but on this side of the Tortugan port, there were no pirate ships unloading or guns blasting off. No, there was only a few lonely inns where respectable merchants and not so respectable, yet honorable, rumrunners held up for the night.

It was relatively safe for a woman after dark, so Melissa closed the shutters and locked to doors to the office. There was no point in waiting for Michael. He was no doubt gambling away their profit or spending it on booze or whores…possibly both. He would wander home before dawn, vomit in the kitchen and moan for his loving 'Missy' to come and take care of him.

And like to fool she was, Melissa did as he asked. Michael was her brother, the only family she had left, and family took care of each other, no matter what.

Sighing, Melissa didn't hear the footsteps behind her or see the three shadows walk about the alleyways whenever she passed. She entered the housing apartment and tiptoed past the landlady's room. Melissa wasn't in the mood to deal with widow McAllister's lecturing about late payments. Not tonight.

It was a routine. Close and lock the door. Hang the office keys on the hook beside the door. Clean whatever mess Michael had made, if he'd beaten her home. Wash her face, slip into her nightgown and read until it was quiet enough to sleep.

Tonight, Melissa thought, she would indulge herself, just this once. The tub was there to bathe, hidden in the corner underneath unwashed clothes, and there was a fireplace and a pot to heat the water.

Melissa was resourceful, she knew how to make soap with beeswax and blend it with perfume and flowers so it smelt sweet instead of the rotting lard used by most residents of Tortuga.

After a decent soak she dried off and used the last of her mother's old, expensive lotion to smooth some softness back into her skin. By the time she'd relaxed and began brushing her hair, it was growing quiet. Fights were taken inside to avoid the swarming bugs that frequented Tortugan streets, and guns were either running out of shot or bullets.

Melissa's hair was her one vanity. She'd kept it at a manageable length, just past her shoulders. Freshly cleaned and still wet, the folds of dark auburn were straight and softly framed her face of moderately spiky eyebrows, high cheekbones, small mouth and blue eyes that looked close to crystal while in the light. Much like her mother's.

Melissa wasn't ugly or pretty. She was merely interesting, and with her bad skin, rough hands and bitten nails, it would take a much larger dowry to find a husband.

Not that anyone would bother to look, even with her shapely figure and interesting face. No one wanted a girl who came with a drunken brother, and Melissa wasn't going to leave her brother behind.

Deciding it was quiet enough to sleep, she blew out the candles and moved her bedding closer to the fire.

After Michael started drinking, it was impractical to keep a bed. She'd sold the bed frame and mattress and bought bedding materials, sewing being one of the skills she'd learned on the ship. The pile of blankets had a certain comfort and were easy to laundry. Practical. Sensible.

Melissa fell asleep there, waiting for Michael to come home.

But that night was no ordinary night in Tortuga. Just as Melissa's eyes began to droop and the fire died out, a fog rolled into the harbor and over the dockside streets, reaching under the doors of taverns and whorehouses, still busy with their customers.

_The Queen Anne's Revenge_ sailed into port.

Whispers went wild then, as Captain Barbossa himself walked the docks and searched the taverns for a few men, willing to risk a limb or two in the honest, daring pursuit of piracy.

In one dark tavern he found a young fellow, rather off his rocker as it were, desperate to join. Poor fool signed his name, and then begged to sign another's.

"A woman, you say?"

"Yes, Captain. My sister. `Fraid I'm in a bit to trouble you see, and I couldn't possibly leave her behind. I-"

Barbossa's hit knocked him cold, and the surrounding crew laughed.

"Women and sisters. Next we'll be bringing wives and daughters" Barbossa stood, drained his tankard of rum and cried out, "To the boats. And drag him along."


	3. Ch 2: Much Searching To Be Done

A/N: And here is chapter two. Enjoy. Review if you feel like it :)

Chapter Two: Much Searching To Be Done

Michael was still missing. Honestly, Melissa had no idea what to do. It's not like they had any governmental pull or influence. All that was lost when her father disgraced himself and left the royal navy. There was her grandfather, but honestly Melissa hadn't spoken to the man in years. She didn't even know where to find the penny pinching bastard, and quite honestly, she didn't want to ever see him again.

When they needed him the most…when his own daughter needed him, and not for his money, well yes, they went there for the money, but not to repay loans or debts.

The last time Melissa saw her grandfather, her mother was dying. Alison, the only daughter of some rich merchant back in Ireland, tossed out by her father while on her death bed. Melissa remembered the scene in South Carolina too well, when Her father rushed the three of them into what was left of a carriage and drove for two days without rest or food. They begged at the door, not for themselves, but if he could just find a doctor. Just to ease her passing, if there was nothing that could be done.

Melissa remember how the old man sneered and spit on her father's boots.

"I have done enough for her. Let the witch rot." He'd looked Melissa right in the eye then, glared at her even as he slammed the door. They'd left after her death for the Caribbean. Mostly because Da loved the ocean, just as Alison did.

But Melissa had never been alone, not even when her father died, for Michael was there with her. To take up the business and help her haul in their catch. He'd stood next to her at every meeting with the bank and glared down greedy men, who laughed in Melissa's face.

But this? Not coming home, Michael always came home. Even if his friends had to drag him to the front door, he made it home, crawled back and begged for her to help him up the stairs.

There were two, firm knocks at the door.

"Coming." There was only one person who knocked like that. This couldn't be good.

Melissa opened the door slowly. "Mrs. McAllister. I didn't expect to see you."

The older woman pushed Melissa aside to get into the room. She was short. Most of her hair was gone, but she hid the fact by wearing white caps over her head. She was nearly blind, but managed well for herself, ever since her husband died.

"Your brother isn't here, is he? No, didn't hear him call for you last night." She walked around the chamber. "No moaning this morning either."

She fixed Melissa with a strong stare. "And what will you do then, girl, if he doesn't come back? Who will haul the catch in?"

"Michael will come back, Mrs. McAllister. He always does."

"Will he have your rent, then?"

Melissa paused in closing the door. Why lie? There was no point. "No. No, he probably will not." She nodded to some of the last nice china, neatly stacked on their only table. "But those are worth-"

"Enough to pay what you owe me, possibly cover the next payment. But child, what you need is something better than this." She gestured to the room. "I hear there is a tavern, looking for-"

"I won't work in a tavern, Ma`am. Unless it is as a cook, which few taverns manage to pay."

"Good. Good. I didn't think you were the type." McAllister waddled over and patted Melissa's arm before walking out the door and into the hall. "I'll give you some time. Only some. You find your brother, send him to me. My tongue was sharp enough to cut my husband away from drinking. Might also work for that brother of your's."

Melissa spared her a smile. "Thank you, Mrs. McAllister. Really."

She shut her door behind the landlady and hoped a few days would be enough to make up the difference in their sales. Maybe they could function without a storefront. Do all the paper work at the table, store everything in one of the warehouses down by the water. It might be less expensive. She's have to do some math, pull some figures. The fish would wait.

Grabbing her father's coat, Melissa left, locking the door, and checking to make sure it was shut tight. They might be on the better side of the land, but Tortuga was still Tortuga. She wasn't about to risk losing anything they had left.

(break)

Jack Sparrow sat back in tavern, rum tankard in hand, humming very lightly a song that had, to be honest, been on his mind far more than was healthy. Next to his feet, knotted tightly, sat a sack with all the world and then some in it. He didn't keep his hands on it though. Best to act careless. Yes, just a sack on nonsense, really, the same carried by any sailor stuck on land for too long. He grinned and drank deeply, and waited.

He didn't have much long to wait. Gibbs came walking through the crowd, smiling at a few men, but keeping conversation short. His steps were strong. Yes, yes it had been a good finding, no doubt. There was a familiar, stabbing pain in her neck. He rubbed it absently, wondering just what he could have done recently to bother it.

Gibbs sat down and pulled out a flask. "Painin` you again, is it?" He sipped.

"Just a little. Good news then, Master Gibbs?" Jack leaned close, but not close enough for anyone watching to think they had a secret.

"Ah, possibly, possibly. But Jack, yeh won't like it."

Jack winced, barely. "Let me guess. We need the blood of so and so's son, the key to a chest, which is hidden at the end of the world, and a mermaid?"

Gibbs grinned and sipped again, "Not so complicated. Blood yes, but none to be spilt. We need a bloodline, to be exact."

Jack leaned back once more and rubbed his neck. An old wound? Maybe. Damn but he was getting old. "Are we to trace old William down then?"

"Not so easy, I'm afraid. What we need Jack, is a _bloodline_. Not a strong one, just one a few years older than our own. Second generation, mayhaps."

"Jack nearly drooled he was so excited. To get his hands on the Pearl again, feel the waves under his hands…for that, he'd do anything. "Then I guess we are set, Master Gibbs. It's just a short ride to the Cove to pick up-"

"Not so easy as that, Jack, mores the pity. We need a rare form of the breed." Gibbs spat to the side and spied again, this time downing the whole flask. "We need a woman."


	4. Debt to be Paid

A/N: Thanks for reading everyone. Free cookies if you comment! Okay, so, that wouldn't really work out. But feedback is always good :) But you can just enjoy as well.

Chapter Three: Debt To Be Paid

It was dark out. Usually Melissa didn't mind the dark. But tonight it just felt…so wrong. In every which way too dark, too quiet. She rubbed her arms, the chill leeching through even her father's coat. But she had to make her way home. Michael might be looking for her. With a gentle huff of air she extinguished the last lantern and took up her keys.

Dockside was rather quiet, but she figured it was her earlier unease still getting to her. She locked the office and headed home, never seeing the shadows that followed her as they had the last few days, scampering around alley ways and always keeping just slightly behind her.

Melissa would have noticed, if numbers weren't still running in her head. If she wasn't so worried about Michael. If, If, If…

She made it to her street, and then finally there was enough light and enough echo for her to hear the footsteps besides her own. The wind gusted around her, her father's coat flapping against her body. She was very much alone. She walked after, but the footsteps kept pace with her. Not really knowing why, she started to run.

_Just make it to the door. Just to the door, and then you'll see just how sil-_

A dark hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, hard enough to spill her to the ground. Someone helped her up, none too gently. She didn't need to see his face to know it was one of Patrick's boys. They all smelled the same.

"Why `ello there, _Missy_. An` ow are yeh this nice night?"

She pulled away from Colin and turned to face him. Patrick's boys, alright. Colin, Henry and John, each broad-shouldered and tall with their mother's white blonde curls and none of their father's slim frame.

Best act polite. Just one good yank would probably send her down again. "Fine, thank you Colin. But it's late, and I should be going now. Goodnight."

Henry, always rough, even compared to his brothers. He grabbed her arm and pulled her up so she was struggling to keep her feet on the ground. "Yeh'll be taken us to yeh brother first, _Missy_."

Only Michael called her Missy. Hearing it from the Patricks made her stomach turn.

"Now, Henry. Let the girl down." That was John. Cool and refined, his father always sent him along with his brothers for the gentle jobs, knowing how out of hand Colin and Henry could get. The only Patrick to join them in school, John was the youngest and the same age and Melissa and Michael. For some years, she had quite the crush on young John. That is, until he started doing his father's dirty work. Until he started to _like_ it.

He caught Melissa from stumbling and firmly tucked her hand onto his arm. "Now, it's that better? Really Melissa, we don't want to bother you. Just let your brother know we're down here and…better yet, why don't we head up stairs together and all sit down to have a nice, tempered talk, shall we?"

Melissa tried to pull away but Henry jabbed her shoulder hard enough to remind her just who they were. John led her to the front door and gave her a smile. "Let us in, won't you, Missy?"

Finally, she jerked her hand away but only because John let her.

"Still a hellcat, are you?"

She pulled out her keys. "Still a bastard are you?"

John slung his arm about her waist and squeezed, just slightly. He leaned down and whispered, "I like you Melissa. I'd hate to have to…" He squeezed once more and pinched her side…"hurt you."

He took the keys from her and opened the door, firmly pushing her inside. Henry and Colin followed. Colin nodded towards the first door. "That ol` bat still alive an` around?"

"Aha, the McAllister widow." John grasped Melissa's hand and tucked it into his arm once again, with his free hand, slowly rubbing her arm. "I trust you won't make us wake her, Missy?"

All she could do was nod and pull John away from the door. Henry and Colin followed John and Melissa up the stairs like a parade of nerves. Melissa was shaking, Colin and Henry were agitated. John was the only one still keeping his mask glued on.

They made it inside her small apartment and John guided her to the center of the room. Colin stood by the door, and Henry in front of the only window.

"Michael isn't here." She blurted out and pulled her arm away. "I haven't seen him all day and I don't know what you want but-"

John pressed his hand over her mouth, his fingers moving over his chin as he spoke. "Missy, Missy. Poor Missy. We know Michael isn't here. Foolish bastard signed on with Barbossa."

He dropped his hand and began to circle her.

"What?" Melissa felt numb. Her heart started to race, because Patrick only sent his sons out for one reason, and if Michael wasn't here…

"That's right, Missy. You dear, darling brother ran a rather high gambling debt, turned pirate and left you here all by yourself." He leaned in and whispered, "It's a hard thing, Missy, being abandoned. Left Behind. Forgotten."

Gently, he ran one finger down her neck but jerked away when Melissa made to slap him. He even had the gall to _tisk_ her. "Now, now Missy." He grabbed both her arms and yanked them to her sides. "We don't want trouble. Just what you owe us."

"I don't owe you anything."

With a quick nod to Henry, John pushed her towards his stronger brother. To her horror, Melissa actually squeaked when he grabbed her waist firmly and lifted, like she was nothing. He carted her over to the chair and dropped her. She cried out, but was silenced once again when Henry gagged her, and Colin walked over, grabbing her hands before she could fight back. He forced them to her lap until Henry finished, then together they tired the rope around her thighs, under the chair and over her wrists. Wrapping and pulling until she couldn't wriggle free. Until the ropes bit into her skin and pinched.

John paced before her, looking concerned. "Now, I don't need to tell you Missy how much my father likes his payments on time. I don't need to scare you with the facts."

He looked around the room. The bare floors and the wooden candle sticks scarred by fire and wax. He nodded to himself. "Yes and I don't see anything of value here to bring the right price."

Slowly he turned and faced the fireplace. The room was dim, the coals hot but there wasn't much of a fire. Still, he picked up the poker and moved the ash, leaving the poker in the coals and dusted his hands.

"Yet, there must be something for your brother to see, and to remind you that no matter what," he crouched by the chair and yanked Melissa's head by her hair, "you two owe us a debt, Missy. And we always collect."

He hit her then, harder than Henry. Her neck cracked against the sudden force and her eyes watered. She shook with fear when she saw Colin at the door again, playing with a knife and leaning against the wood. Even if anyone heard her, even if anyone cared, they'd have to get through Colin. And there was no one like that for her. She'd die, maybe.

Or worse. She'd live.

Taking slow, measure steps, John walked back to the fireplace and picked up the poked. It wasn't red or anything, but she knew it would be hot. The coals were still white and ashen. John brought the metals close to her face, so she could feel the heat. It was dim, but it was there. She began to cry.

"Hush now, Missy. Hush like a brave girl. No, we won't touch your face. He ran his fingers back and forth across her cheeks, then swooped in and kissed her mouth, gag and all as she screamed.

"No, not your face." He placed the point of the poker right onto the back of her left hand and held it there as she screamed. "But your hands Missy, those are already rough. Those are already gone."

He lifted the poker and moved to her other hand. Missy screamed and rocked the chair to get away. It worked until she fell backwards, and then Henry was there to hold her as he traced each finger on her right hand, making crude lines on her flesh in red.

"Yes, this you will remember, Missy. This, not even Michael will forget."


End file.
